


Baby

by Taro



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean is so self consciouss and oblivious to being bi that it hurts my ass, Destiel - Freeform, F/F, Human!Impala - Freeform, M/M, bc reasons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 03:40:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3275312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taro/pseuds/Taro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a harsh knock on the door. </p>
<p>A girl is there. </p>
<p>The car is gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've wanted to make my own human!Impala work for so long now ugh so here you all go.
> 
> This first chapters were written quite a while ago so they may not be very good but anyway, enjoy!

You could say, Dean Winchester missed the simplicity. 

Yeah. 

He missed the simplicity of his early years of hunting with Sam. The good side was good, and the bad side was full of monsters that the Winchesters had to stop to save the innocent. Simple enough, right? There was nothing else to worry about. No shades of gray, no half-sides, no traitors, no nothing. 

But somehow everything got fucked up over time. 

And now, Dean has a Christmas nougat of a brain, with the fact that the good are now bad and the bad are even worse, and as it turns out, he realizes he had the wrong idea of the whole thing right when it's too late.

But amidst all this twisted chaos of good-bad levels and confusion, one can always find hope. There is always something good coming out of every situation, even if we can't see it. 

Villains can only be when there are heroes to defeat them, and sometimes, the heroes live within the villain themselves. 

Everyone, no matter who or what they are, has good intentions in their heart.

Even if it's just a snap of fingers.

• 

"Sam!"

The ghost of Lyanna Hunch lunged at Dean once again, only stopped by the swing of an iron pipe that the hunter had in his hands, "Do it now!"

Sam, fumbling with a pack of matches over her salted and gasoline soaked bones, didn't notice that she had reappeared behind him. She would have stuck her rotting hands right through Sam's back to tear out his spine had it not been for Dean, who saw her graying mess of hair hovering behind Sam's own mane. _Shit._

"Sammy, _duck!_ "

Years of hunting had made Sam so used to this that he didn't even hesitate, lowering his torso down toward the floor to let Dean swing his pipe at her again. Before he could though, her spectre roared up in flames. She let out a gutural scream before the last of her floated up and away into ashes.

Sam stood back up agitated, shook the pack of matches in Dean's face as if to say _right on time. I'm the best._

Dean rolled his eyes, hidding a pride smile for his brother, "At least we don't _have_ any anniversaries."

Sam smiled back at his brother, and they both stared at the flames rising from the corpse of Lyanna.

The swirls and tongues of the fire danced before them as a quick flash of the past few days went through Dean's head in a rush. 

After the trials, Sam had been just about this close to dying, so weak that he couldn't keep his eyes open, much less his knees straight for more than a second. Dean knew Sam needed a hospital fast, but something told him that little Sammy wasn't so bad, that his little bro was going to pull through just fine. 

So instead of a hospital and having to pull dozens of lies and money out of his ass for the doctors, Dean took Sam back to the bunker. 

Cas was graceless now, and Metatron was on the loose, but no inactive volcanoes were suddenly erupting or unexpected earthquakes and their corresponding tsunamis and killing thousands of people—making lots of tragedy stories, for the story freak—so Dean thought that he could deal with the douchebag when Sam got better. 

And he did.

Dean had called Cas after the Fall, telling him to come back to the bunker if he wanted to. Of course the angel was weary at first, but after Dean explained the whole Gadreel thing, Cas was understanding and more than glad to go back to making Team Free Will. Dean said he was sorry many times, Cas attempted to make the hunter believe he didn't have to apologize so much.

So, now the three of them were in the bunker and taking care of Sam's health, doing all the internet and book research possible on medicine and supernatural-trial recovery. Which wasn't much. 

But, surprisingly, Sam actually made it okay. 

Sure, poor thing still had trouble breathing sometimes, and his joints and muscles began to ache much faster than before. But Sam was getting there, nice and slow. 

And when the day came where they finally found some weird deaths of late-40s husbands getting killed in New Jersey, their first case in weeks, Sam was the first to chirp in, feeling so much better now.

"Dean, we have to go. People are dying there, innocent people!"

"Sam, stop. You know we can't, you're not fully—"

"Screw my health, Dean, I'm better now. Good enough for a case, and I'm not letting any more victims get killed."

The brothers argued as Castiel heard them from behind a wall with a newfound fondness. He was basically human now, all Grace gone. The only remnant left of his angelic being was angel radio. Cas could still hear it sometimes, when it was quiet and he focused enough. But the angels never talked about anything remotely interesting, and every day was a new adventure with the Winchesters. 

When Dean had asked the angel if he wanted to tag along in the hunt, Castiel had refused. Politely. First, because he knew he wasn't a real hunter, so his presence might be a burden for the brothers rather than the help that they needed. Second, because he honestly was tired and didn't feel like it. Third, Sam and Dean needed some brotherly time. They have been holed up in the bunk for weeks, barely holding on to the thread of sanity in a place where the only entertainment is your annoying brother and a posh-talking angel, and they had never been truly alone, with Cas here and all. And what better way for bonding the Winchester way than a good old salt n' burn.

So yeah, Cas was staying in the bunker.

Back in Newark, the brothers had already turned the fire off, covered Lyanna's grave again with dirt, and were now in the Impala, driving back to the motel. They could go back to the bunk the next day—it was late and Sam was very tired. And as disgusting as a motel bed can be, it's still more comfortable than a car seat.

Dean dropped Sam off on the motel—Purple Haze, it was called—and decided to celebrate alone with a couple beers and, if he was lucky, the bartender. 

But after the two beers, the bartender seemed to turn less and less appealing.

With another sigh— _Damnit, Little Dean, you have one job_ —he gulped down his shot, hoping it would finally do something to his dick.

It didn't work. 

And even though the bartender had the face of an angel, with short red hair and soft features, and colorful tattoos all over her arms, neck and back, Dean wasn't up for it. Literally and metaphorically.

...And since when does Dean think that someone hot has the "face of an angel"?

"Rough day?" She asked after serving a beer to an old guy at the other end of the bar table. Her voice was soft but raspy, nice to listen to. 

Dean scoffed, "I'm celebrating," as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. With his deep frown and tired eyes, Dean was _obviously_ the very definition of a party. He motioned for her to bring him another shot. 

"Well it doesn't look like it," she brought another shot glass, "What're you celebrating, handsome?" She purred and handed the full glass to Dean. 

The hunter eyed the amber liquid, swished it around a couple of times, before downing it. He hissed at the burn in his throat and looked at Redhead Tattoos, who was leaning over the bar, showing off her perfectly round boobs, "A death."

She kept quiet for a moment. A long stare was shared, before she broke into laughter. 

"What's so funny?" Dean couldn't help but ask. This girl's laugh was contagious, and Dean had to bite down the urge to at least smile at her. 

A sing-song sigh escaped her lips, "You say you're celebrating that someone died, but you still look like the brokenhearted widow at funerals."

Of course Dean was celebrating, but this wasn't obviously his idea of a party. And the redhead caught on, with full-on sarcasm. Dean chuckled and lowered his head. She leaned on one elbow. 

"If you really want to celebrate..." She edged closer to Dean's ear, "my shift is over in an hour." He raised his eyebrows.

_Fuck yeah._

_...I guess..._

Dean smiled, but backed away from her, "I, uh... M'sorry but, I think I'll pass. If it was any other day, and I mean _any_ other, I would have loved to, believe me... It's just—"

Leaning back, the bartender smiled and went back to polishing a beer jug, "It's okay. T'was just an offer. Let me know if you change your mind," she winked. 

Dean nodded out of courtesy, but he knew he wouldn't get any tonight. He wouldn't leave Sam alone all night, let alone interrupt his much-needed sleep with moans, and the idea of having to do the walk of shame tonight wasn't very appealing.

So no, not tonight. 

Besides, he had to get some sleep. He was driving tomorrow, and he wanted to get back to the bunker fast and without any delays. Because of reasons that have nothing to do with the fact that Cas is back there. 

Dean sighed. 

Why had Cas refused to come? Was he starting to get tired of the brothers? Of Dean? It wouldn't be a surprise for the older hunter, everybody leaves him eventually, when they realize he's trouble, or when they die because of him. 

Well... He guesses it's a good thing. Cas is a nice guy, he deserves to live. The further away from Dean he goes, then the longer life span he will have.

If Dean could have been able to look at himself at that very moment, he would've at least tried to cover his _melancholy_ with some other emotion, but he was too deep in his thoughts to notice that his feelings were actually showing this once. Too much alcohol probably. Yeah, that had to be it.

And apparently, Tattoos took pity on Dean's miserable look, because she then began the serious conversation, "Name's Lass, by the way," she offered her hand to shake. 

Dean looked at her, at her hand, and then shook hers a bit warily, but kindly. Lass? What is that, Irish? "I'm Dean."

"So, tell me, Dean..." She leaned casually on the counter, not like before, "Is it someone else?"

Suddenly, Dean's saliva became evil and just about choked him. He isn't even sure why that comment affected him so much. Maybe the way he had been thinking about Cas just when she said it, made him feel as if he had been caught in the janitor's closet with a hand down a random girl's shorts. 

Lass looked at him weird, but she was still smiling. When Dean recovered, he opened his mouth to say something but Lass interrupted him, "So it is someone. Huh... I didn't think you were taken."

Dean's words had apparently taken a vacation to Cancun because his head was spitting questions and contrasictions, but he only managed a 'uhh'.

First of all. Since when to hot bartenders get invested enough in the life of a client to ask about this stuff? Second, he's not _taken._ That's not the Dean Winchester way. And _why the hell is he so flustered?_ Now he feels as if he got caught masturbating with a joint in his mouth in a church pew or something.

Lass seemed to realize something thanks to Dean's stuttering silence, "Touchy subject, okay..."

Back from Cancun, then, "It's fine, it's not 'touchy' or anything."

"So, can I ask who she is?" Lass put down the jug she was polishing and began pouring beer in it for the guy at the other end of the bar, "or, you know, _he._ "

And here comes the choking again. Lass raised her eyebrows and chuckled, gave the beer to the guy and came back, "Guy it is," she opened a Corona for herself and made a shushing sound when Dean questioned her with a look, "So what is it, he doesn't like you back or something?"

Dean near enough _grimaced_ and shook his head, between sputters and a tipsy brain, "We're not... We're not even... I—He, he doesn't—I'm not..." No, there's no way in hell Dean's into guys, and besides, if he was (which he totally _isn't_ ) Cas would never chose _him._ The mere thought of him and Cas _together_ together made his spine tremble. 

(But Dean wasn't sure if it was in a good or a bad way.)

"It's okay, Dean, I'm just the bartender. You don't have to tell me anything," she smiled. 

Another sigh left Dean's mouth, "Well, you're too good at reading people to be a bartender."

She shrugged, "Maybe I'm good at reading people _because_ I'm a bartender."

"But seriously, Dean, _that_ right there? That was a gay freak-out. If you like this mystery guy enough, it doesn't matter if he has a dick too."

Dean couldn't help it now. He began to cough. Loudly. While Lass laughed. 

_Dean Winchester found dead in a New Jersey bar. Cause of death: awkward choking._

Lass ran a hand through her hair, "Alright, alright... Wrong choice of words for a delicate subject, sorry. But I'm serious, Dean, it's called bisexuality, or even pansexuality, if you think you can get over a few more of this nonsense freak-outs of yours. And there's nothing wrong with that."

Dean was uncertain. How did this girl know so much? About him, even? 

Lass unwrapped a candy from under the bar and began to eat it, "Man up, and tell the poor guy how you feel about him." And Dean would have gotten angry, had it been _anyone_ else. But... There was something in the way she said it that didn't even make Dean a bit mad. 

She was right, Cas had been through enough. But Dean didn't... He doesn't... 

She offered Dean a candy, and he took it—praying that it had no roofies. Lass seemed nice, but you can never be too careful—and began to eat it too.

It tasted... Liberating.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day?! Exciting!
> 
> That will probably never happen again. Even more so because I start school again tomorrow. 
> 
> *whispers* I'm a senior now *squeals*

After his, umm, very _educating_ time with Lass, Dean went back to the motel. 

Lass had actually opened his eyes to the real world of sexuality. Asexuals—something Dean will definitely never be—demisexuals, genderfluid people... Who knew there were so many possibilities? 

The Impala roared as he went on third gear, taking advantage of an empty and long strip of street and accelerating. 

In a way, Lass had burst the straight-only bubble that John had implanted in him since day one.

He still had much to learn though, he'd do more research as soon as he got back to the bunker. 

_Maybe there's a sexuality for people who are attracted to celestial beings?_

...Woah brain, what the _fuck?!_

He is _not_ attracted to C—

A high pitched honk and blinding headlights woke Dean up from his trance as he swerved to the right and stepped hard on the brakes to try to avoid crashing with the other car.

Dean breathed heavily. His drunkness had passed thanks to his conversation with Lass and the candy, and this made the trick to sober him up fully. He had been too distracted thinking about...

Uh, just thinking.

The other guy stopped too. The car was a convertible Corvette Stingray from 1967, white with light blue. And had the furry dice hanging from the front mirror. Douchebag.

"What the fuck, dude?" The other guy said, popping his head out to check for injuries to his car, "You drove right into my lane! Are you fucking drunk? Do you have any remote _idea_ of how much does this car cost?!" Douche was yelling now. He had cross earings, a quiff that freaking defied gravity, and eyeliner. Yup, fucking douchebag.

Dean had no time for this shit. 

Putting on first gear, Dean flipped him the bird and drove away, hopefully throwing car smoke right in this guy's face. Looking in the rearview mirror, he noticed he actually did. That made Dean smile.

Douchebag's face was priceless, as he coughed and swished the smoke away, becoming smaller and smaller as Dean accelerated. 

Dean laughed, "Nice one, baby," he caressed the steering wheel of his perfect Impala with love.

He could swear the car's motor rumbled louder in response.

• 

When Dean got back to Purple Haze, he parked his baby right in front of their room. The lot was empty, luckily. But then, the entire parking lot was empty. The motel wasn't good anyway. No surprise there...

Dean opened their room slowly, not to wake his brother up, and closed behind him. Sam was snoring in his bed, a hand twitching where it hanged in the air.

With a yawn, the older brother went to brush his teeth, stripped to his boxers and a T-shirt, and went to sleep.

• 

_Swirls of black..._

_Patches of white..._

_Spirals of blue..._

But... It all feels _wrong..._

A hard knock on the door ripped Dean from his dream, and looking over, he saw Sammy was stirring too. 

No one knew where they were staying. No one even knew who they were in this town. It had to be police. Or worse... Dean reached under his pillow for his gun, and got up silently. 

With a meaningful look at Sam, and a nod back, Dean got up from bed and walked to the door, where the hard knocks hadn't stopped banging loudly. He peered through the peephole. He was confused and a little bit shocked by what came next.

"Dean! Sam! Please, open up!" A girl with dark skin and big eyes pleaded. Her face showed fear, and she kept looking back as if she was scared of what could creep up behind her.

Dean gazed back at Sam with a confused look. As if it would explain to him what was at the other side of the door—kinda forgetting that Sam knew less than him right then—and opened the door.

The girl first looked at Dean, then behind him at Sam, and then collapsed.

As soon as she began falling, Dean held her up, dropping his gun. Sam came up fast behind him and helped Dean carry her inside, kicking Dean's gun inside and closing the door, hoping no one had seen them.

The girl flopped on Dean's bed, which was closer, and after gazing at her for what felt like the entire night as if it would give them some answers, the brothers looked at each other.

_What the fuck..?_

"It's a trick," Dean stated. 

Sam gave him a bitchface.

"I'm serious!" Dean waved his hands around, "Who is she? And how in the name of _Hell_ did she know where to find us?"

Sam shrugged, "I don't know. Maybe she actually knows—"

Dean shook his head, "It's too sketchy, Sam. It has to be some kind of trap."

Exasperation kicked in on Sam, "Why does everything have to be a trap with you?"

"How does she know us, huh? Why does she know our names?" Dean screamed in a hushed way, "Have you seen her before? Because I haven't, and people don't just simply ask for your help in the middle of the night already knowing your name and where you're currently sleeping."

Sam sighed, tired, "Alright... Let's just wait for her to wake up and talk. Maybe she does need our help or something."

A hand ran through Dean's hair. He went to the window to check if anyone was outside watching or something. 

But there was something worse—his Baby wasn't there. 

Without taking his eyes off the window—because _holy fuck_ —Dean started, "Sam..."

He heard Sam's soft footsteps come closer.

"Where's the Impala?"

Sam was silent for a moment, "W-What?"

Dean turned around to look at his brother, "The car, it... It's fucking gone," he said and barged out, shoving the door open and walking out into the completely empty parking lot.

Dean turned over and over, walked around the lot looking for something, _anything_ that would tell him where the _fuck_ had his car gone to.

"Dean..." Sam began. 

"No, Sam, it's gone. Gone! Someone took it." Dean was beggining to panic now. Someone took his freaking car and he was going to _pay._

Baby wasn't anywhere in the parking lot, there was no broken glass on the floor, and there were no tire marks anywhere. It had just vanished. Poof! Like a cloud dissipating. 

He had just been driving her a couple hours ago!

Dean began to curse under his breath and yank his hair into all directions. 

Then suddenly, something clicked. The girl... 

She had appeared as soon as Baby had vanished. Maybe she knew something. Maybe... She had something to do with it. 

Dean turned around to look at Sam, who looked back as the realizarion of what Dean was thinking dawned on him too. 

"Oh, no, Dean—" he tried as the older brother pushed past. Sam grabbed his arm as he did, "Dean calm down, we don't know if she had something to do with your car."

Dean was fuming, trying to break his arm free, "Then how do you explain all this?!"

"Dean, let's just... Wait until she wakes up and ask. Maybe she saw something and will want to help us get back the Impala," Sam pleaded, not letting go.

Seeing as his little brother wouldn't forgive him if he went back inside guns blazing, and that he was actually right, Dean huffed and snatched his arm back from Sam. 

"Fine. But don't think that I'll treat her any different just because she's a girl. I want my Baby back."

• 

Dean couldn't sleep. How could he? His literal home was gone, and with it all the guns and knives and rosaries in her trunk. Sam seemed to miss the importance of that car, because without it, they were both lost.

Sam got some shut-eye as soon as his head hit the pillow. Maybe even before. The oldest hunter was jealous of his little brother's ability to fall asleep so quickly. Dean would be infinitely happier if he could do that. 

But he could not.

And specially not today. With this stranger sleeping in his bed, and the Impala gone, it was physically impossible for him to sleep.

The sun was coming out now. Instead of a dark blue, the sky was now pale, and the few clouds in it were turning pinkish. It was a nice sunrise. 

After almost another hour, when the sun began to peek from above the tree line, Sam stirred in his sleep. The girl kept quiet and unmoving. 

Sam woke up slowly, but when he realized what had happened the night before, he became alert at once. He had boxers and a T-shirt, but he put on some jeans for when the girl woke up. 

"Sam," Dean called quietly, "I want you to see something."

Sam, confused and—okay maybe—a bit scared, went up to his brother. 

"Look at her right thigh," Dean said with a pointed look, with a weird voice.

The girl was wearing jean shorts, combat boots and a tank top, with a sleeveless jean jacket over it. When Sam took a look at her thigh, he saw nothing, "What's wrong with it?"

"Look closely, right under her shorts," Dean insisted, quiet, as if he was telling a secret.

And this deserved the ultimate bitchface, "Dean, stop, you perv."

Dean shook his head, "No, I'm serious, look!" He said as he stood up and pointed at her outer right thigh. There, barely noticeable, was a scar. A big one, it seemed. It had a shape Sam couldn't identify. 

Sam stood back and asked, "Well, she has a scar, so what?"

" _So what?_ Sam..." Dean scoffed, "Look closer. You don't notice anything stranger about it?"

 _Shit, Dean's out of his mind..._ Sam though while rolling his eyes. But, looking closer, he noticed that her scar did have some kind of pattern. But it was still too covered to see it completely.

"What is it?" Sam asked. 

"She's been stirring all night," Dean began, quiet again and dead serious, "and at one point her shorts pulled up a little further, and I saw it. Sam," Dean looked at his brother straight in the eye, and now Sam was utterly confused and definitely scared.

"That scar, it... It's our initials."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah... My school is all about that academic excellence bullshit so no promises on when the next chapter will be up. So sorry but it's the truth :(

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, we'll get to the real action later on, don't worry.


End file.
